By night an atheist half-believes in God.

Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, In rayless majesty, now stretches forth Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.

The man who consecrates his hours by vigorous effort, and an honest aim, at once he draws the sting of life and Death; he walks with nature; and her paths are peace.

On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.

Beautiful as sweet, And young as beautiful, and soft as young, And gay as soft, and innocent as gay!

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time But from its loss.

Creation sleeps! 'T is as the general pulse Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause,- An awful pause! prophetic of her end.